My Last Bow
by The Wax Factory
Summary: Arnold's always been the nice kid. However, all of that comes into question when he returns to his hometown and runs into an old friend. A one-shot.


**My Last Bow**

"_Darling, you left my heart_  
_In pieces on the floor…"_

The aged Dino Spumoni classic hummed out of the train's crackly intercom as it pulled into the terminal. The electronic fuzz distorted the pitch a little but the long deceased swing-star's talent still seemed to hold up throughout the years. Although the song was barely at its introduction, it was cut off abruptly when the train screeched to a halt and let the song die out to a single crackle of static. Dino's voice from the intercom was replaced with that of the senile driver's:

"Hillwood. Last stop of the night, Hillwood".

The twenty-seven year old in the middle of the crowded train let the sea of bodies sweep him out into the station. A portfolio of various papers hung loosely from his left hand and flapped out of the open crannies like white gulls. He'd been tapping his fingers against the leather case to the nostalgic Spumoni tune during the ride, but the suddenness of arriving at his destination had taken him back to reality. Swept outside in the mob of strangers, the boy couldn't help but smile. _It was one hell of a journey but I'm home…_

Arnold tightened his grip on the portfolio handle and walked onward. The other passengers all took different paths out of the depot and vanished into the dark corners under the fluorescent lightning. The Hillwood Train Station had always been run-down, but his seven years out on the open road had seemed to have taken its toll. The hanging posters of various destinations were blurred and faded. Cobwebs hung from the shady nooks. The level of grime on the floors gave the impression that the floors hadn't been waxed in years. Grimacing slightly but pressing onward, Arnold walked down a flight of concrete stairs and turned a corner. The sound of the train he'd exited became more and more distant as he walked on until it faded into nothingness.

Taking a left down an underground hallway littered with graffiti, his eyes locked on a receptionist desk hidden behind a glass window. If it hadn't been for that single, dim light bulb hanging just behind the window, he probably would have passed it and kept walking. Instead, he caught sight of the timid-looking red-headed man hidden behind the counter. Short with what looked like a half-smile on his freckly face, he seemed to be pre-occupied with fiddling through one of the cabinets. The plaque above the counter read, "_Information Booth_", in bold letters.

"_That's on_e", Arnold thought.

Walking forward and swinging the portfolio much more at his side now, he gave the boy a cordial smile and waved at him. Too lost in whatever he was searching for in the chest of drawers in front of him, the boy didn't seem to take notice. When Arnold finally walked close enough and his shadow overcast him, the boy appeared startled. Glancing up in his chair, he brought up his leg and knocked the rickety-looking drawer off. Papers spilled and fluttered all over the boy as a resigned look appeared on his face.

"I'm okay…" he muttered to himself.

Arnold smiled. "Hi Eugene".

Swearing and struggling to clean up the mess, Eugene Horowitz glanced up at his childhood friend from behind the window with a confused look. It took a second, but nothing short of a look of complete recognition appeared on his face. A signature smile went with it.

"Well, I'll be damned. Is that really you, Arnold?"

"In the flesh", Arnold said. "how's life treating you?'

"Couldn't be better", Eugene said brightly. "what's in the briefcase?"

"Files for a few of the people I help down at the office. A few business cards".

Eugene smirked. "Big-shot doctor now, huh?"

"I'm managing", Arnold said. "I'm looking for some new clients. I always thought it was sick for people to have to pay to get offered help, but I don't see any other way I'm going to make a living. I just decided to go into psychology because it seemed like the right thing to do". He paused for a moment. "Is anyone else still around?"

"They're all either gone or out-of-town", Eugene said. "I think Johansen's still around though. He works at a that car repair garage downtown. Stop by if you feel like it".

"I gotta' make sure I see him soon then", Arnold said. "I don't have much time. I'm just taking a look around to see what's changed".

"And take things slowly while you're at it", Eugene said. "things are falling apart around here and it's good to look on the bright side while you still have a chance. Everything always looks better. Do you need a map?"

"I'll manage. I think I remember where everything is".

"Just take a map", Eugene sighed. "I have about a hundred. They don't pay me enough to sit here and wait for people to wander by all day…"

Arnold grinned. "Thanks".

Grabbing a town pamphlet from the full-stack by the window, he tightened his grip on the portfolio of papers and trudged away from the informational booth. A few steps further and he reached another fleight of concrete steps that led to a pair of double-doors. With a hard push that sent a frost of spring wind into the terminal, he stepped outside into his childhood. _Welcome home, football head…_

_

* * *

_

It wasn't long before he found his first stop. In the grand scheme of things, it would have been a miracle if it wasn't the first place that his feet took him too. The Sunset Rise boarding house still looked like he remembered it if he looked hard enough. Past the boarded windows and urban decay that had plagued the building for the last eight years, he could still see a fully-populated home that had once been the best he'd ever known. When the peeling door hadn't opened, he'd had no choice but to slam into it with all of his might. Sawdust and debris had scattered everywhere as he knocked down the door of the abandoned tenement. When the dust fog cleared and he finished coughing his lungs out, he stepped out into a small, darkened foyer with an ancient staircase leading to nowhere. Part of him wanted to explore the kitchen where he'd eaten breakfast every day, or even the basement that had scared the living daylights out of him, but he knew only one thing mattered.

Getting a ghostly feeling of nostalgia, Arnold walked forward and ascended the stairs of the Sunset Arms boarding house. He passed memorabilia of times gone by as he went up. Pictures of his grandparents at their wedding. Photos of boarders that had long-since moved out. Yearbook snap-shots of him with his fourth grade class. Letting his hands slide up on the railing, he finally reached the second floor. The long hallway of doors stretched out in front of him looked nearly haunted. Walking forward and tightening his grip on the staircase, he could still name every soul that had once lived behind each of those gates. _The Kokoshkas. Ernie. . Grandma and Grandpa's room. All gone. This is turning into a real ghost story, isn't it?_

He reached the entrance to the attic like an invisible force was guiding him. There'd once been a cord to pull for the stairwell to unveil itself, but the mechanism had seemed to have broken over the years. The entire staircase was now clearly visible like the path a dead man took looking up at the heavens. Gulping and grasping his briefcase tighter than ever, Arnold walked up with all of his will power. He felt each step creak under him and felt partly amazed that the whole thing didn't simply come crashing to the ground.

Pushing hard on the attic tile, Arnold couldn't hold in his emotions any longer the moment he entered his room. They'd kept the promise after all. When he'd gone off to college, he'd made his grandparents swear that they wouldn't change his room whatsoever. They'd done more than that. In fact, despite the fact that both of them were pushing daisies, they'd kept it preserved like an artifact. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. Although looking like they needed a good wash, his bed sheets and blankets were neatly folded. All of his comic books were still orderly alphabetized in their cabinet. Craning his neck as he walked in, he half-hoped that his fold-away couch would still work. Kicking it with a hard thud, he tried his best not to feel dismayed when it only swayed and came falling back to place. _Not everything can be perfect…_

Walking out across the room, Arnold surveyed it all. A spotless red and yellow carpet. Folding chairs and a table in the corner. The worst was yet to come. Noticing a metal gleam in the moonlight from the glass sun-roof, he walked across the room to his comic book cabinet and fished out an old relic. Feeling the bludgeon shake in his trembling hands, he crept over to his bed and lay down on it just like in the olden days when he needed time to think. Bringing the object up to his eye-level, he took in a deep sigh. It was a potato clock. Not just any potato clock, but a potato clock with an animatronic version of himself that he'd tinkered with for hours with his grandfather. Glancing up at the expressionless face of the mini-robot, Arnold felt thoughts ping-pong back in his head like the baseball games they'd played back in the park where everything had moved in rapid fast-motion. So he accepted it all. He accepted every damn last bit of it as he lay on his tidy bed and he thought.

It was strange how life had a way of falling apart the moment you left it behind. He hadn't even gone that far either. All he'd really wanted to do was help people. That seemed like the best bet. So he'd done the only sensible thing in the situation and gone off to a get a degree to give his family something to be proud of. After all, he'd always been the mediator when times had been tough for he and his friends. It should have been easy to make that matter in the real world. But as it turned out, the first few years of college life had packaged some unpleasant turns. Grandma had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at the start of his first semester. At first it seemed like too much of a shock for it to be true. She was his unpredictable, zany grandmother after all. A true fighter if not slightly senile, it had always seemed like she would find a way to pull through. But she hadn't. She'd passed away that summer and left them all with feelings of sadness and frustration. And there then were Grandpa soon after. Following the bizarre family curse of dying at ninety-one, he'd suffered a heart attack and fell down the stairs one morning in a strange twist of fate. After that, the boarders had packed their things and moved out.

"_You're the good guy…"_ Arnold thought blankly. _"You did the right thing. You just wanted to get out for a little bit and get some fresh air. But then the neighborhood goes to hell and you feel like it's all your fault. What justice is that?"_

So he'd continued with college. He'd been on the urge of a mental breakdown from the stress, but he'd earned his stripes in psychology and left with nobody there to watch him leave. Helping people had always been his way of filling in the gaps in life. People fought over senseless reasons. It was the reason war broke out. It was the reason there was so much hate in the world. All he'd wanted to do in becoming a doctor was stop the bad thoughts in people before they got out of control. It only seemed right. After all, there was no better sense of accomplishment than knowing you made a difference in someone's life.

_But why do things hurt so bad around here?_

* * *

Arnold walked out of the Sunset Arms boarding house twenty minutes later with the feeling like he'd just walked out of a movie theatre. Dazed and stumbling down the apartment's steps with his portfolio, he made a quick mental check-list of where he was off to next. Gerald seemed like a good bet. Things may have changed, but if there was one thing that seemed carved in stone, it was the friendship that the two of them had. They'd kept in touch even after Arnold had left. The last time they'd actually seen each other was at Gerald's wedding…

Gazing out at the dark, empty streets, Arnold thought of random destinations with no real path in mind. The butcher shop had been boarded up on the way there. So had the flower shop and the fortune-telling joint. It seemed like a once-peaceful neighborhood was deteriorating into nothingness every second. Although the nostalgic part of Arnold missed the actual stores, part of him wondered what had happened to the people behind the counters. That was the part that really made him feel guilty.

Walking down the steps, he was unprepared for the sudden scratching noise. Startled, he looked around in every direction. Nothing. _Great, now you're feeling nostalgic and paranoid. _Slightly concerned, the young man hurried down the stoop with the growing intention to get to Gerald's car garage as quickly as possible. In his anxiety to leave, a stray paper accidentally flew out of his portfolio and into the breeze. Swearing under his breath, he dashed out into the street and made a desperate grasp for it. It fumbled in his hands before flipping over in the air again and slipping between his fingers. More than a little frustrated, he jumped again and this time sent it to the ground where his shoe stepped on it. He cringed at the soft rip on the pavement.

And then there was the scraping sound again.

Frightened out of his mind, Arnold looked around until he finally found there source of the noise. She was standing on the curb under the streetlight with wide eyes. At first glance, she looked like the very definition of a drug addict. Her face was grimy and her blonde-hair was ashen gray and dry-looking. She had tried to hide her ruined appearance under a large quantity of mascara, but it hadn't done much. She still looked like a complete mess. Part of her looked familiar, but already terrified out of his wits, Arnold wasn't interested in staying to getting to know her. She was a problem to help with out for another day. Shoving the torn paper into the leather pouch, he glanced in worry at the curb girl who had looked eyes with him. When the scraping sound broke through the air again, he realized that it was the match in her hands. She was trying to light a cigarette…

Arnold stared at her nervously. "W-W-What do you want?"

"I don't want anything", she called out. "and you should mind your own damn business if you know what's good for you. Take that briefcase of yours and go back to law school or wherever the hell you came from!"

She tried to light the cigarette and this time succeeded. She brought it up to her mouth where the burning ash on it fluttered in the wind. She blew out a mouthful of smoke. Although he was reasonably frightened, Arnold couldn't help but feel the least bit annoyed.

"You're the one who was staring at me", he called back. "and I didn't do anything".

He immeadidly regretted saying this. Glaring at him with her tired-looking eyes, the girl stepped away from the streetlight and started walking toward him. As she stepped closer, he took notice of the more familiar details about her. _The hair that just couldn't seem to be styled. The angry scowl on her face. The unibrow…_

It didn't fully come rushing back to him until she was standing only several feet away from him. Taking in a mouthful of tobacco smoke, the blonde girl spit it out between her yellowed teeth and sneered.

"So football head", Helga Pataki said. "what brings you back to this neck of the woods?"

"Is that really you Helga?" Arnold said softly.

She smirked. "Hard to recognize me, ain't it? "I don't blame you though. Times have been hard around here. Especially for me. Do you want a cigarette?"

"What the hell happened to you?"

"A better question would be what happened to this town", Helga replied. "But like I said, I don't blame you. Do I really look that bad?"

"I'm sorry", Arnold said. "It's just..well…I've never seen you like this before…"

"Yeah", Helga laughed dryly. "I guess it would be a bit of a shock, wouldn't it? It's a road everyone saw coming a mile away though. The girl with the rich corporate father and the perfect, college-bound sister ends up under a streetlight coughing her lungs out with nicotine. Or at least I saw it. You never answered my question, by the way. Do you want a cigarette?"

Arnold glared. "I'm not going to smoke. And you never answered mine either. What the hell happened to you?"

"It's a pretty long story", Helga said. "do you have to catch a train anytime soon?"

"I can wait. You look like you need someone to listen to you".

"Like hell I do", she replied. "I've been screwed over a few times in the last few years by everyone that cares enough to listen to me. While you were off doing god knows' what in the big city and becoming the big ol' psychwhatagist that no one cares enough to listen to, this neighborhood drilled a hole all the way to hell".

"I can see that", Arnold sighed. "I just haven't really worked up the guts to ask what happened".

"Well, I'll fill you in then", Helga said. "and believe me, it's not pretty".

She reached to her mouth with her brittle fingers and tossed her cigarette onto the curb. For a troubling second it looked like she was about to reach for another, but then, with a scowl, she glanced back up at him.

"Big corporation came in. Tore down half the neighborhood to build some sort of new-age mall downtown. That took out about half of the upper-class folk. The jobs died after that, and soon enough, we lived in a ghost town. But I guess you were too busy reading textbooks on how to make people feel better".

"I did the right thing in becoming a doctor", Arnold shot back. "I've helped a lot of people".

"There's a laugh", Helga said shortly. "I mean, crimety Arnold, who was the last client you actually had walk into your office? Gerald says you like to think you're ahead when you're really flat-broke".

Arnold grimaced. "What else does Gerald say?"

"He said you forgot about this place and you were off to better things. He says you're unhappy too". She paused. "Are you sure you don't want a cigarette? I have a whole pack".

"Look Helga", he sighed. "I'm not the one that needs help right now. We have to get you taken to a hospital and checked out. You're not healthy…"

"Brilliant deduction", Helga spat. "I'm not healthy, huh? That's some pretty ground-breaking stuff right there. I mean, wow! Do you really think I like what I see in the mirror nowadays?"

"If you aren't happy I'm free to listen to you. Everyone around here would have taken you in if you just knocked on their door. We were all a big family for awhile".

"Everybody's gone", Helga said. "and family my ass. If they're not dead they found a way to screw me over".

"They're still around", Arnold said. "There's Gerald…"

"Gerald's too caught up with his fancy car business to do any good. All he gets these days is that the neighborhood's dying and he has to find a way out of his problems while he still can".

"Phoebe?"

"Went to some law school up north. Good riddance".

"Sid?"

"Got married to some whore and moved up to Oregon".

"Harold?"

"Fatass took over the butcher shop when Green got a heart attack. Then he left when nobody wanted to buy expired meat anymore…"

"Rhonda?"

"Dead".

The silence between them was almost deafening. A streetlight flickered in a mundane rhythm behind them. It was a very abstract, guilty thought given what Helga had just said, but nonetheless, he let it come. _This was the street where they'd just to play baseball when the lot was taken…_

"Drunk driving accident", Helga said quietly. "the summer before college. She never saw it coming…"

"That's awful…" Arnold said. "It's just so awful…"

"And there's your beloved family, football head", Helga said. "Your awful, beloved family. All rolling in their graves or moved on to better things. Not much different from yourself actually".

"Well, there's your family. _Your real family_. And if they won't take you in, there's me".

But this seemed to be a dead end. Helga glared at him with eyes that would rival a vulture. Her teeth were so stained with tobacco that they almost shone a yellow hue under the neon streetlights.

"Who do you think kicked me out?" Helga shouted. "Big Bob could give less of a shit about me after his beeper company got killed off by cell phones! And Miriam's too busy drinking and passing out on the couch to do anything about it. And don't even get me started on my sister! I swear to God, I'll kill you if you even mention that bitch's name!"

"I didn't mean it like that", Arnold said, more than a little taken aback. "It's just….you need someone to help you out. And I'm all ears". He reached into his portfolio and retrieved one of the cards that was poking out like a dog ear. He held it out to her. "Here".

Helga accepted the business card and seemed to have trouble looking at her through her hazy, bloodshot eyes. Squinting until her eyes were just small slits, she glared and flicked it back to him.

"They messed up your last name", she said coldly. "It's all smudged up…"

"I told them about that one", Arnold replied. "Printing error or something. They never fixed it…"

"Really professional", Helga said. "big-shot doctor, aren't ya?"

But he wasn't listening to her anymore. He'd taken notice of her arm when she reached out to accept the card. The shadows of her tattered sleeve didn't hide the harsh bruises that lined up to her elbow.

His eyes grew wide. "Helga…"

Her eyes grew as wide as his. Rolling up her sleeve, she hugged herself and began to back away from with a look of pure panic. Glancing around worriedly with her red-tinted eyes, it almost looked like she thought the night was out to get her.

"You just shut up", she whispered. "Just shut up. You don't know me…"

"Who did that to you?" Arnold said. "Who the hell did that to you?"

"Lorenzo. Rich kid. I moved in with him for a few months after I ran away from college. He had the money and he always knew what to say to get me to open my legs for him. He got me bad though. He wasn't the last one either. Everyone got me bad…"

"Is this why you're like that, Helga? Is that why you started doing drugs? Is that why you're here?"

"Don't act like you're going to open any doors in my mind, okay?" she screamed. "Just….just go away! Get out of here! Go back to your damn office and never come back to this dirt poor town!"

"Helga. I-

Before he knew it, she reached into the pocket of her ripped and tattered jeans and retrieved something that gleamed in the moonlight. It took him a second to realize what it was, and when he did, he couldn't help but take a few steps back as a natural reaction. It was a switchblade. She pointed it at him with a paranoid, frightened look on her face. She's pointing a weapon at you. You don't know what all of those drugs have done to her brain. _She could kill you if she wanted to. But you have to stay. She needs you…_

"Don't you come anywhere near me, football head! I'll get you! I will! _I swear to God_!"

"This isn't getting us anywhere", Arnold said with his voice almost cracking. "We have…we have to get you out of here. We'll take you to a nice rehab clinic away from here. And then you'll be as good as new. You just have to trust me".

Stepping forward cautiously with his portfolio still in his hand, Arnold reached out toward the terrible mess of a girl and put a friendly hand on her shoulder. He tried his best to smile.

And then it happened.

The mere presence of a hand touching her caused her into body to shiver. Her eyes enlarged to the size of dinner plates. Yelping and jumping away in panic, she swung out the switchblade and shoved it into the doctor's belly hard. The thud sounded to him like a bowling ball dropped off a bilding. A thin mist of blood sprayed out onto the sidewalk and decorated his portfolio papers as he dropped his briefcase to the ground. _You just wanted to help her…you're a good man…that's what you are…_

"Holy shit! _Arnold!"_

He caught sight of Helga shrieking in panic as he fell onto his knees with the fiery pain surging up through his stomach. It looked like she'd just realized what she'd actually done. Tears covered her into face as she flapped her arms in the night, oblivious to the simple idea of helping him. His childhood friend blurred into a dark shadow as Arnold fell to the sidewalk. A few seconds later, her frantic voice drifted into nothingness as he only became aware of the drizzling sound of his blood leaking out onto the sidewalk. He lay bowled over on the curb, shivering in the darkness under those fluorescent streetlights.

"_That's the bowling alley down the street…."_ Arnold thought dumbly. _"All boarded up too…"_

Despite the world clouding over, the boy found himself smiling. He was dying on his homeland. And he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

* * *

He awoke in a haze. Light and darkness played tricks on him as they flickered around in a cradle. He tried to reach his hand up to grasp the light, but his hand seemed to be in an odd state of paralysis. He found himself not caring much though. The aurora danced around him in a circus of colors, partly blinding him but also giving him the feeling that getting up wasn't a good idea. Grimacing under the weight of all of the brightness, he tried to flex his fingers again. _Nothing, huh?_

"He'll be waking up soon", a feminine voice said. "we're going to need more painkillers…"

The voice seemed so loud that it almost broke his eardrums. Another one answered it soon after.

"Right on it".

There was the sound of footsteps hurrying out of the room and swaying doors. Groaning again, Arnold tried as hard as he could to force his eyelids open. At first it seemed like they were sealed shut, but after arduous effort that made his teeth grind, he was able to force them open and let the harsh overhead light above his hospital bed blare down on him. The feeling of discomfort in his gut was overpowering.

"Well, well, well. A man is born again".

Arnold gazed over to lock eyes with an elderly doctor. Her hair was gray and tied up into a bun but the smile stretched on her face seemed friendly enough. The nametag underneath her white jacket read, "". He grimaced as he shuffled his body in his over in the white sheets. He felt the medical scent all around him. The scent of distilled water and dried blood that had been washed over with soap.

"Wha….What?"

"I've never seen a guy as lucky as you", said. "we thought you were a goner for awhile. You must have an angel watching out for you".

"Wait, what happened? Where am I?"

"They found you lying in the street in that rundown town about a mile from here. You shouldn't be there you know. It's gotten dangerous in the last few years. Anyway, somebody called us with your cell phone. We got there as fast as we could, but by the time we saw how much blood had poured out of your belly, we thought you were done for. You're lucky we know how to make a quick stitch around here".

"I'm really confused…" Arnold began.

"Don't be", said. "Just be happy to be alive. I have to go next door. I'll be back in a few minutes. You'll have to spend the next few days here until we make sure you didn't get infected. We tried to call your family through your cell phone and the number on your business card but-

"They wouldn't be there. They're not around anymore".

"I thought so.."

She started to walk out of the white room and out into the busy hallway. Halfway there though, she turned back to him.

"Your suitcase in on the counter", she said. "They went back for it after they loaded you away. You'll have to give it to the police when they get down here…"

As she left the room, Arnold looked over at his bedside. He quickly got a basic outline of the room he was in. It was a typical hospital room with shaded curtains and machines that looked too complicated for him to ever understand. Gazing down at his belly, he gently brushed his hand out on the covers over it. Along with a searing pain that ripped through his entire chest, he felt a thick patch over it. _You're healing up…_

He looked over at the fold-away table beside his bed that the doctor had mentioned. The portfolio was there as good as new. Part of him wanted to cry for it. It shouldn't have been there. It should have been lying in his decaying childhood home with the rest of his lost friends. It should have been wiped out of existence so it wouldn't drag on with the mundane routine of his life. Helping people was all he had ever understood. Even lying in a hospital bed, it was the only true plan he had for his life when he arose. He was a human puppet with a world to give for others but nothing to return for himself. And that portfolio full of business cards only emphasized it.

But there was still work to be done. Arnold reached out and grabbed the handle of the portfolio. Clumsily from the amount of medications he'd gone through while he was asleep, he dropped it and sent a sea of papers pouring out. Grimacing but more than used to it, he almost missed the endlessly folded piece of lined paper in the center of the mess. He probably would have just gazed over it if it hadn't been for the untidy scrawl across it in blue pen. The same blue pen that he kept tucked into his portfolio…

"FOOTBALL HEAD".

His heart gave a thud. His hands moved without his mind even operating them. He tore away at each fold with his heart beat growing faster at each time. It would have taken a shorter time to unfold it, but the drowsiness of waking up from the antithetic had yet to wear off. Finally, he had a crumbled letter in his hands. Not even his drug-educed state could stop him from reading it as quickly as he could.

_Hey,_

_I never thought I would need a cell phone. Big Bob always went on about how they sold out his business. Funny how using yours was how I saved your life. I don't know how I managed to stay by you until the ambulance came. I did though. I would've stayed even longer, but there was no way. Right when I heard those sirens, I cleared out of there. I'm already screwed up enough. Until something else happens, I'll consider what you said. I don't believe in spiritual healing or any of that shit, but if I have to cut someone that touches my arm, I think it's clear that I have some problems. I'll flip a coin and see if I decide to sort myself out. Either way, I think I'm going to reach my last bow. You were always cute. I just didn't remember it until you were bleeding all over me. I like to think that I saved you. Maybe I didn't. Anyway, I have to finish this up. They'll be coming back to the scene of the crime soon and I can't be seen here when they find this. I'll just let fate cross our paths again when the time's right. See you. _

_-Helga Pataki_

Arnold considered the letter for a very long time. He let it rest across his aching chest as he glanced up at the dreary hospital ceiling. After a little awhile, he looked out through the three-story window where he could see cars speed and lights blare in a city that was very much alive. Not very far away though, a city had died. Not just any city, but his city. The bricks in his childhood had been disheveled, and hopefully, he had left his mark on them before they vanished completely. People and towns fell apart in the blink of an eye without any will or reason. And they needed help. Everyone needed help. That was just the way it was. And he would be the man that intended to do it.

"You're a bold kid, Arnold…" he said quietly.

He put the letter on the bedside table and lay back in his bed. His painkillers would be arriving soon.


End file.
